


The Things We Do for Cats

by Fibreoptics



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Carnival, F/M, Fluff, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 14:13:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9495038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fibreoptics/pseuds/Fibreoptics
Summary: Clarke really didn't realise what she signed up for when she agreed to take her goddaughter to the Carnival.or:“Hello we are full grown adults fighting over this last balloon that’s shaped like a cats head.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> WHO IS EXCITED AS HECK FOR NEXT WEEK!?!
> 
> Wrote up this lil prompt because I am too impatient to wait for Bell/Clarke interaction in S4, and also because I highly doubt that we will be treated to fluff :/ Hope you enjoy :)
> 
> Also, come join in the fun on my [tumblr](clarkeswalkabout.tumblr.com)!

There was only so much popcorn, fairy floss, screaming children and flashing lights Clarke could take in one day. Sure, she loved her goddaughter and would do anything for her, but honestly just heading back to her apartment and chucking on some Disney movie on Netflix to entertain Rosalind seemed like a much better option than hanging around some dusty park with subpar rides and limited seating. However, the small child she was looking after for the day had the determination of her mother, and there was no woman Clarke had ever met more determined than Raven Reyes. Rosalind’s mind was firmly set on staying for the 9pm fireworks, which Clarke was sure would be cancelled due to the imminent rain storm looming.

They had done the teacup ride. They had consumed Rosalind’s body weight in sugar. They had played the game where you fish for floating rubber ducks. They had had their faces painted (Clarke with a small Princess crown, and Rosalind with a silver sparkly wrench). But after having to tear down a bully middle aged man who had pushed in front of Clarke at the mile-long line for the drinking fountain, she decided enough was enough.

“Come on, Rosie. I promise we can get pizza and ice-cream on the way back home, and then we can watch Cars and paint our nails! Doesn’t that sound great?” Clarke remarked to her goddaughter, plastering a smile on her face but unable to disguise a hint of desperation in her voice.

“Nope! We’re staying for fireworks.” Rosalind replied firmly. Clearly, reasoning with a stubborn five-year-old was going to be harder than Clarke thought.

From the corner of her eye, Clarke glanced at a balloon stand a couple of metres away. In the middle of a rainbow, helium filled cluster of balloons, there was one in particular that caught her attention: a black cat with blue eyes and a head in the shape of a football – an exact replica of Berlioz, Rosalind’s favourite character from the Aristocats.

The Aristocats, for some unknown reason, had been Rosalind’s favourite movie for the past six months. She had dragged Clarke down to the beanbag in her living room a countless number of times to watch the Disney classic, to the point where Clarke had just had to put her foot down and refuse to watch it again.

“Rosie, have I ever told you how intelligent, mature, and sophisticated you are? You know, I can basically treat you the same way that I treat other adults, you’re so smart. And you know what grown ups do? They negotiate, and they compromise.”

In response to comment, Rosalind crossed her arms, narrowed her eyes and raised one eyebrow. She truly did have remarkable insight for a five-year-old, and knew that her godmother’s comments had their seed planted in scheming. But she stayed silent, waiting for Clarke to continue, interested in what was on offer.

“How about I buy you that balloon over there, the one that looks exactly like Berlioz! Then, when we go home, which we will do as soon as possible, we can watch the Aristocats. How does that sound?”

Rosie pursed her lips and twisted them in contemplation. The blonde had laid a decent offer on the table.

“Hmm… Well… I guess that’s fair. But you have to promise we’ll get pizza!” Rosalind replied.

With a glance up to the sky, Clarke released a sigh of relief, thanking any deity who had given her the luck to successfully negotiate with the likes of Rosalind Jaha. “Excellent, it’s a plan,” she smiled, reaching down to take Rosie’s small hand and lead her to the balloon stand.

There was no line when they arrived at the stall. Clarke pulled out some cash from her pocket and smiled at the girl selling the balloons, who with a dishevelled uniform and untidy looked like she was ready to check out, go home, and never return to the carnival again. “I’d like to take the cat balloon, please,” Clarke smiled.

“Oh.” The lady stated in a monotone voice. “Yeah… That umm… Might be difficult…”

“Difficult? Why the heck is it difficult, just take my cash, grab the balloon, and we can both be done for the day.”

“Well –“

“It’s difficult because I’ve already bought it.” A deep voice chimed in from behind her. Clarke turned around with a scowl. She was at the end of her tether, and really did not have the energy to deal with another asshole. She inhaled sharply in surprise when she saw who had spoken. She was expecting some middle aged straight white man similar to the one at water fountain, thinking he owned the world simply by existing.

But no, that was not what she saw. Instead, there stood a guy just slightly taller than her and about her age, with dark tousled hair, eyes to match, and freckles that resembled speckles of chocolate. Oh, and a scowl to match, if not trump, her own.

“Is that so? Then why is it still there, floating above a sign saying ‘balloons for sale,’ hmm?” Clarke questioned with a raised eyebrow and a hand on her hip.

“Well, Princess,” he drawled sarcastically, glancing down at the tiara on Clarke’s cheek, “I just had to grab some cash. But I assure you, that balloon is mine.”

“Are you kidding me? You can’t reserve balloons. Use your eyes and note that I am currently at the front of the line, with the correct amount of money, buying the balloon that is clearly for sale. _I_ assure _you_ , that balloon is _mine_ ,” Clarke spat out, irritated.

“Nope, no way. There is no way I’m going to let you walk away with that balloon,” the man responded with conviction.

“So you’re telling me you’re a full grown adult who is willing to fight another full grown adult over some stupid cat balloon?”

“I’m not the one with a pink glittery tiara on my face, Princess.”

“There’s nothing wrong with pink glittery tiaras and I deplore the suggestion that it downgrades my maturity! You’re just being petty and argumentative. Seriously, who peed in your Cheerios this morning?”

“Clarkey, don’t worry about it. We can just go, I don’t care about the balloons or the fireworks,” a tiny voice whispered from where Rosalind had hidden behind Clarke’s legs, disconcerted by the conflict.

“Sh –” The scowl on the man’s face melted away as he noted the caramel skinned child. “Sugar. I didn’t realise. I thought – ” His expression transformed into one of guilt, he was clearly coming to the realisation that the balloon was not, in fact, for Clarke herself.

Clarke just raised her eyebrow even further.

“Were you the one wanting the balloon?” The man’s voice became softer, calming, as he crouched down to the level of the five-year-old.  
Rosalind nods shyly, emerging from behind Clarke’s legs.

“Well, you have excellent taste. My favourite girl in the world loves black cats. She’s away travelling through Europe right now, so I kind of miss her. She’s left her kitten for me to look after, and it’s favourite thing to do is play with balloons, so I thought I’d record a video of her kitten playing with the balloon and send it to her. But clearly you will take care of the balloon a million times better than me, so I reckon it’s best you take it home.”

Rosalind looked up from the spot she was staring at on the ground, glancing through her eyebrows at the guy. She nodded and said “Ok,” while Clarke handed her money to the exasperated sales person in exchange for the Berlioz balloon.

Clarke grabbed Rosie’s hand and started to walk away, but a warm and broad hand on her forearm stopped her.

“Wait, I should probably apologise.” It was the belligerent man who had stopped her, who was now looked rightfully sheepish.

“Probably?” Clarke replied sarcastically. 

“Yeah, definitely. I’ve been having a crappy day. I work in the VIP tent, in catering.” _Well that explains the formal attire_ , Clarke thought, in reference to the form fitting white button down and black pants the man was wearing. “And I swear, those trophy wives are vicious.”

“Tell me about it,” Clarke said. She glanced down at the nametag the guy was wearing, Bellamy, it said. Realising what this Bellamy had had to deal with from years of being forced by her mother to attend ‘upper class’ functions, she began to understand his irritated mood. “I unfortunately know the crappiness of those types of things all too well. Realistically, I guess I’m impressed you’ve not completely lost your faith in human beings. I would be if I had to do your job.”

It was at that moment that a crack of thunder came from the clouds and Clarke smelt the familiar scent of approaching rain. 

“Great, now to top it all off, I’m going to get soaked on the walk to my car,” Bellamy muttered under his breath. And then the rain started. “I better get going, the staff car park is miles away. So, again, I am honestly, really sorry for being an idiot. I hope you and your daughter –"

“Goddaughter,” Clarke quickly corrected him, unsure as to why she was so keen to establish this fact. Well, not completely unsure. Her painful singledom and the guy’s undeniable attractiveness were obviously messing around with her.

“Oh. Ok. Well, I hope you both take good care of the balloon for me.” Bellamy said, with a small smile that revealed some dimples in his cheeks, which Clarke suddenly had an inexplicable urge to kiss.

She sighed, finding it hard not to take pity on the guy who was about to get drenched, even if he had been an idiot. “Look, my car’s not far away. If you share your umbrella, we can go to my car and I’ll give you a lift to yours.”

“Really, you’re just going to help our a stranger who’s been nothing more than an idiot to you?”

“Well, you’re not really a stranger anymore, Bellamy,” Clarke said while looking pointedly down at his nametag. “I’m Clarke, by the way, and this is Rosalind.” Her goddaughter gave a small wave.

“Nice to meet you both,” Bellamy said while setting up his umbrella for the walk. Clarke was surprised to see a detailed illustration on the umbrella of what appeared to be gladiators.

They marched in silence for a minute or two, Rosalind holding Clarke’s hand and receiving the majority of protection from the rain, walking directly under the umbrella sandwiched between the two adults. “So what’s the story with the gladiators?” Clarke asked, never having been very comfortable with silences.

“Oh… Uh… I’m kind of what my friends would describe as a ‘history nerd’. I’m actually doing my PhD in it at the moment.”

“Wow, cool. I always enjoyed history at school, but was more a political studies girl myself.”

They again reached a silence, but now instead of being awkward, it felt comfortable. They continued on cuddled under the umbrella, the beat of their feet synchronised.

“So, this girl in Europe, is she your girlfriend?” Clarke tried to stop herself but the words just flew out of her mouth before she could. _Smooth, obviously not fishing for information at all_ , she thought to herself. 

“No. Sister.” Bellamy looked wistful. “She graduated from college and decided to go ‘find herself’ in Europe.”

“You miss her,” Clarke stated. It was written all over his face.

“Like crazy. And my best friend’s just followed his boyfriend to some amazing job opportunity across the other side of the country, and my social circle and sort of disappeared, so I guess I’m a bit…”

“Lonely?” Clarke cuts in.

“Yeah,” he softly agrees. “Possibly explains why I’m acting like an idiot, and then going and venting stupidly to the pretty girl who I was an idiot to.” Bellamy continues, looking down ashamedly. Clarke’s mouth formed an O at his description of her, then slowly melted into a small grin.

Clarke had expected the car ride to be full of uncomfortable silences, but was more than happy to be proved wrong. Conversation actually came easily. Clarke told Bellamy about the coffee shop where some of her art pieces were on display, and Bellamy told Clarke all about his sister, Octavia, and how he had basically raised her, and Rosalind told everyone about the mega awesome dinosaur robot she and her mum were building. So Clarke actually found herself feeling disappointed when Bellamy interrupted their conversation to say “My car’s just here, to the right.”

After Clarke pulled up next to Bellamy’s car, neither of them seemed to be in any rush to move. 

“Well, I better get going. Thanks for the lift, and really, sorry again for being an ass,” Bellamy finally said.

“Wait just a moment,” Clarke stopped Bellamy and was met with an inquisitive look. She fumbled around until she found an old gas station receipt and a pen, and scribbled her number on it before handing it to Bellamy with a shy smile.

“What’s this?”

“In case you can’t find anyone to replace your so-called social circle. Seems like you’re kind of an asshole when you’re lonely, I wouldn’t want to be responsible for letting you continue like that. Besides, I might want company to watch the Aristocats.” Clarke smirked.

“Are you inviting me to Netflix and chill, Clarke?” Bellamy returned Clarke’s smirk in full force, cocking an eyebrow suggestively. It was amazing the comparison between this man with a sinful look on his face and the one who was crouching down earlier, spilling his heart out to a five-year-old. An amazing comparison, and one Clarke wouldn’t mind seeing more of.

“We’ll see.”

“I guess we will.”


End file.
